Page 96 of Capuleto

I shifted the phone slightly, it moved unintentionally. I returned it to where it should have been and directly caught the face of the man holding the phone. My phone dropped from the shock of encountering a face I never expected to see again, at least not alive.

It couldn’t be him!

37

Fuck it!

Aleksa

Acreak made me suddenly go on alert.

"But who do we have here?" thundered a voice too close for comfort.

The guy who had just discovered me was dressed in black. He held an apple in one hand and a knife in the other, twirling it like a macabre juggler.

He was one of Yuri's men. I knew him, and he knew me.

I assessed the possibility of reaching my weapon before he could raise the alarm or finish me off.

"The plumber. I was told there's a major shit clog in this house."

"Here, the only shit is you, that's why you work for who you work for."

Basile laughed, showing off his peculiar gold teeth. He had caps on both the upper and lower canines.

"Well, it turns out the only stinking ass here is yours, you should be dead alongside that traitor Korolev."

"And that's coming from someone who's going to die in a few seconds... I never liked you, Aleksa. I asked Yuri that once he and his sister finished with your boss, I could personally take care of you and give you one of those tortures you so enjoy." I clenched my fists as I realized I hadn't been wrong in my judgment of R's wife. Now I wished I had been. The blow Romeo was going to receive would be devastating. "You chose the side of the losers. I thought it would take me a little longer to catch you, and look, you came all by yourself to me." He clicked his tongue and threw the apple. "Tell me something. How did you get in? Your retinas aren’t registered in the system."

"I told the cook I came to bring you the balls you're missing to show your faces and not act like snakes behind the back," I quipped.

"In this house, we have plenty of balls; it's not our fault you're gullible. Get your stinking ass up, I want to look you in the eyes when I kill you." Basile waved the knife blade for me to rise. "I love the part of my job where I see the life escape from those I annihilate. Don’t you?"

Yuri's voice was no longer heard. Had he gone inside? Or had he seen us and was coming down?

I was screwed. All I knew was that they had a retinal scan security mechanism at the entrance. I hoped it wasn't placed at the access door, or I’d be really screwed. I had to act fast and get hold of one of his eyes. I doubted he would accompany me willingly.

I stood up slowly, every nerve ending on alert, urging me to be extremely cautious.

"Do you prefer a slow death or a quick one?"

“Given the choice, I prefer yours,” I commented, moving my right hand to my back while raising the left.

I knew he was going to attack me with the knife. After all, his nickname was the Butcher. He had them in all sizes and colors. He handled them with total skill, and if I learned anything in the years we coincided, it was that he always aimed for the neck. I used to remember those kinds of details; you never knew when they might come in handy.

The blade pierced shamelessly through the center of my hand, slicing through it like butter. The sharp tip emerged impudently on the other side, just like that neighbor you don’t invite yet still dares to cross the threshold of your house.

I didn’t wait for him to counterattack. I didn’t even draw the gun, because my mind told me that if I had the damn luck of us not being discovered, I was going to finish Basile before they did.

I kicked him in the balls which made him drop the knife. I twisted the impaled hand and with the protruding end, I slashed his neck ruthlessly. It hurt, though not as much as it did him.

A stream of warm blood hit my face. The Russian clasped his neck while his eyes filled with astonishment as he realized what had happened.

I observed my pierced palm. I hoped it hadn’t severed anything important that would limit my movement. The adrenaline I was secreting had taken care of blocking the pain.

Basile tried to sound the alarm. He couldn’t; only liquid gushed from his throat. I kicked his abdomen with blood spurting profusely from his gullet. He staggered backward, staining the glass as he leaned against it, creating reddish marks that trickled down in rhythm with his descent onto the grass.

I needed the knife to remove his eye; I had to be careful extracting it from my hand if I didn’t want to cause worse damage.

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